


In Your Dreams

by Liviapenn



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Domestic, First Times, Humor, M/M, Poker Nights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-10
Updated: 1999-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 03:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviapenn/pseuds/Liviapenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim picks up after poker night, and Blair picks up on the fact that Jim has a thing for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Dreams

Laughter is the shortest distance between two people. 

  * Victor Borge 



Love is like pi: natural, irration and very important. 

  * Lisa Hoffman 



"You know," said Jim, staring at the door, "Brown made an interesting point, there." 

"What?" I looked up from the card table where I was counting my winnings. And gloating. Just a little bit. 

"We get along better than we should." Jim said thoughtfully. "You ever think about that?" He turned, heading back into the living room, and started collecting empty beer bottles, snack plates, and discarded napkins: all the usual leftover poker night debris. 

"No, not really. How _should_ we get along, anyway?" I asked, remembering Brown's offhand comment about our unlikely partnership. Someone else might've taken it as an insult, even as tactfully as he'd put it. But even if I didn't agree with him, I understood. If it hadn't been for Jim's senses, we probably never would've stuck around each other long enough to get as tight as we are. Yeah, I'm a lucky guy, and I know it. "More to the point, why shouldn't we?" "I don't know. Because we're different?" Jim said, raising an eyebrow. 

I didn't see that it made much of a difference, no pun intended. I'd never really considered our dissimilarities to be a problem. Hanging around someone with a different viewpoint can be pretty enlightening, and hey, I'm totally into that. Plus if Jim was more like me, then, well, he just wouldn't be _Jim_. 

"So what?" I responded. "You spent most of your life in the barracks, I've spent serious time in communes. I'm an anthropologist; you were _married_." 

"Yeah, so?" Jim said, heading into the kitchen. 

"So why shouldn't we get along?" I repeated. "We've both got the practice and the skills necessary to live with another person. Short of irreconcilable differences, why wouldn't it work?" 

"Irreconcilable differences," Jim muttered, "like you being a messy-ass slob, maybe, and me liking things just a little cleaner than a pigpen?" 

"Oh, please." I said, ignoring the ever so subtle hint to get off said ass and help clean up. "This from the man who irons his socks." Crossing back into the living room, Jim held up his hands, framing a picture. "Under your bed: the sacred burial ground where dust bunnies go to die."  
"You've been under my bed?" I asked, amused. 

"And I don't iron them," he said, "I fold them. Not that you'd know much about either process."  
"Right, right-- so do you clean under my bed when I'm not around?" 

"If I did, you'd never know." Jim said grimly. "Come on, Sandburg, give me a hand here." 

"But I like the mess." I said, and stood, shoving a wad of bills into my pocket. "It reminds me of my scruffy undergrad years, keggers and stuff, you know? Except less breakage." I said, surveying the room. "And the empties would be cans, not bottles..." 

"And everything smelled like weed, not cigars." Jim suggested, amused 

"And we didn't actually invite the grumpy, badass cops, but they'd still show up." I grinned, collecting coasters from the card table. 

"God, don't remind me." Jim grunted. "Seemed like I broke up a university party every Friday night, when I was a rookie... Helloooo, Officer." he caroled smarmily. "Fuck yoooou, Officer." 

"Actually, no one ever called the cops on one of my parties." I said, and Jim gave me a mock-disbelieving look. "No, seriously. Anthro keggers were famously dull. I mean the main reason an anthropologist goes to a party is to stand around and watch what everyone else does, right? So when you get a bunch of 'em together... Let me put it this way: I prefer the cops." 

"Well, they like you too." Jim said, and then he cocked his head. "So it's not just me, anyway."  
"Well, what can I say?" I said. "I'm astoundingly charming." 

"Nah, that's not it." Jim said, straight-faced, then grinned, stepping closer. "See, it's like this, Chief. No one gets a good look at you till they've kind of gotten used to having you around. " He lifted his arm, his palm hovering flat over my head. "You just sneak in-- under the radar." 

"Oh, very funny." I said, jabbing at his unguarded ribs. Really though, it was kind of a sweet thing to say, for Jim anyway. He just chuckled when I punched him, and dropped his hand to ruffle my hair. I batted his arm away, combing my hair back out of my face with my fingers. "Hey, man, watch the hair." 

"You just insinuate yourself right into everything." Jim continued. "Like tonight. You know how rare it is for a civilian to play in a Major Crimes poker game?" 

"We might need some more soon-- I've just about cleaned out all the fuzz." I said.  
"Oh, we'll see you in a police uniform yet." Jim teased, turning into the kitchen.  
"Yeah, right, man," I said, picking up some glasses. "Not in your wildest dreams."  
"Nah." Jim called. "In my wildest dreams, you're usually naked." 

I choked and almost dropped glassware. Okay, I admit it, he got me-- he totally got me, there. "Oh, just usually?" I inquired, struggling to keep a straight face. "What about the rest of the time?" 

"Well, sometimes there's this little French maid outfit," Jim said, holding up his hands, and I burst out laughing, crossing into the kitchen and dumping the glasses in the sink. Oh, man. Of course, the sad part is, if that's what he wanted, I'd probably _do_ it... I'm so fucked up. But I never let the impossibilities get in the way of our friendship, and that's something I'm proud of, really. 

"No, it's really pretty hot, Chief." Jim continued, eyes slightly squinted. "Your hair's up, and you've got this white feather duster, see--" 

"No, no, no." I interrupted, waving my hands to cut him off. "See, this is typical, Jim-- even your pathetic sexual fantasies involve me being neat! I think this says something, man." 

"Well, I wouldn't call them pathetic," he protested dryly, crossing his arms. 

"Oh yeah?" I rolled my eyes, leaning back against the counter myself. "Ooh, baby," I said throatily, throwing my head back. Yeah-- _yes_! that's the spot-- harder--" I let my breath catching in my throat, pretending perversely for a second that Jim was actually listening like he wanted to hear this. "Harder-- yes-- ooh, scrub that bathroom tile, babe!" I cried, growling. "Oh, yes! Oh, God!"  
A moan ripped from Jim's throat, and I opened my eyes, and I noticed. 

Jim was, uh-- well, he was-- Well, there was something _to_ notice, if you know what I mean. I tore my eyes away, flushing, and met his. 

He stared at me brazenly, as if challenging me to... what? Freak out? Come on, man, it's just a boner-- not that Jim necessarily knew it or anything, but personally? I had been there _and_ done that. I lifted my chin. "Jim--" 

"Yeah?" 

"You have a thing for me." I said, and flushed. "I mean-- I didn't mean that the way it sounded-- you-- all joking aside, Jim, you have like a personal liking for me going, here." 

Jim's mouth was a thin line, and he stared coolly at something over my shoulder. 

"I was wondering when you'd notice." he muttered. 

"What!?" 

A steely gaze met mine. 

"You're saying-- well, fine, man, I guess it went over my head," I said, imitating his goddamn cutesy-ass 'under-the-radar' gesture. He flushed, eyes darting away. "Why didn't you say anything?" 

"Like what?" he shrugged. 

"Like, I don't know-- hey Blair, I think you're hot and I want to see you in pantyhose?" I suggested.  
"Oh, right." he said, dripping sarcasm. "Like you would've stuck around." 

"I'm here, aren't I?" I gestured to myself, and he turned away-- actually physically turned away from me. It pissed me off, man. "What? Come on, Jim. I get it." I said, stepping closer. "You want me. So what's wrong with that?"  
"You don't--" he said, and stopped. 

"I don't what?" I said. "I'm right here. Look at me, man." 

Talk about being careful what you wish for. Jim had never looked at me that way. It was almost like anger, that same razor sharpness, but different. What was it? I stared. Passion? My God. 

Eyes locked on mine, Jim took a slow step forward, and then another. I fought a sudden urge to run like hell. This could be so good, or else _so_ bad, I didn't even want to think about it. "I was right," Jim said intently, "you'll do anything to get out of cleaning the living room."  
I laughed sharply, startled and relieved. Jim smiled tightly, eyes still laser-sharp. 

"You can be such a prick--" I began, because I wanted the last word, and then his mouth covered mine.  
A tentative, gentle kiss. Strange that he should be so gentle, and yet, not surprising at all.  
"Blair, I--" he murmured, pulling back. 

"Sometimes." I interrupted. 

"What?" 

"You can be such a prick-- sometimes." I told him. "Dammit, Jim!" I burst out suddenly. 

"What?" he said, startled. 

"You are so fucking weird. Why didn't you make a fucking move!" I shouted, grinning.  
Jim laughed disbelievingly, then leered. "God, I love it when you talk dirty." 

I cracked up. 

Well, I'm sorry, but I did. He laughed too, pressing a hand over his mouth, turning away, leaning on the counter. It went on for a while-- it was one of those times when just hearing the other person winding down sets you off again, you know? I don't know how long we stood there, just absolutely howling our stupid heads off. But it was good-- a nice, safe release of tension.  
"Jesus, Jim." I said, clutching my sides. "I'm glad we can laugh about stuff, you know?"  
"Oh, me too." he said, relieved, "me too." And he smiled. It was nice to see him happy. It really was.  
"Jim," I said, taking a breath, "we're done cleaning-- we need to have a talk." 

"But--" he protested, looking to the living room, and I cut him off. 

"We're done, we're done, we're so done, man," I said, and poked him in the chest for emphasis. 

"I didn't know you were so _dominant_." Jim said, grinning wickedly. 

What could I say to that? "Oh, man." 

"It's a major turn-on." he added. 

"Right," I said disbelievingly, "right-- okay then-- take off your shirt. Now." 

Defiant and obedient at the same time, he did! Pulled it right off, over his head, and stood there, arms loose at his sides, straining for casual, but his shoulders were so fucking tense. I took a few deep breaths. I couldn't believe that he'd _done_ it-- and hey, for once, no undershirt! God, those muscles. Mine, all mine-- dared I hope? I ogled Jim shamelessly. 

He cleared his throat. "Did you want something?" 

"What?" I said vaguely. 

"Like, to talk?" he asked, amused. 

"Oh, right, right, right." I remembered. "Look, I'm into this, Jim, I'm really _really_ into this, but I just, I need to know some things first." 

Jim shrugged slightly, bare shoulders flexing. "Okay." 

"Okay. Like... have you done this before?" I asked. He raised an eyebrow. "You know, like, had feelings for guys, been with guys?" 

"Those are two different things, Sandburg." he said, and those shoulders slumped for a second. "I've never been brave enough to go with the feelings, but I've had them." he explained quietly. "But, emotions aside, well. In the Army, and working Vice... you get experience. I know what I'm doing." 

I was wowed. Not so much that he'd been attracted to other guys, or had "experience--" whatever _that_ meant-- but that he'd admitted it. To me. Jesus. 

"Anything else?" he asked, looking at me hungrily. 

I stared at him, at that sculpted torso, those long legs and noble face. The part of me that was screaming I-might-actually-get-a-slice-of-Jim was beginning to go hoarse or something, but I was beginning to realize that I was going to have to do it-- I was going to have to be naked in front of Jim. Being naked _with_ Jim, now that was something I'd put a lot of incredibly earnest thought into over the years, but naked in front of Jim? I realized suddenly that _that_ was something different entirely. See, I'd never in my _dreams_ thougt I could actually have a chance with Jim. But that was because I didn't think he played the game! I'd never had to worry about being in his league. In the face of his honest beauty-- I admit it, I was intimidated. 

"Yeah, just one more thing," I said, and hurried up and said it before I lost my nerve. "When did this happen? I mean-- when were you first-- attracted to me?" 

"Oh, God..." he sighed ruefully, "I guess a couple of weeks after you first moved in." he said, and I clapped my hands over my mouth to keep from interrupting, because I really did want to hear it. "You just... you came out for breakfast, and you leaned on the counter and stretched..." he said, demonstrating, muscles flexing, "and your T-shirt rode up and I caught a glimpse of your ribs, and-- I didn't know why I was so hot for this skinny _kid_ who couldn't even have a normal breakfast for god's sake."  
I grimaced. "And they say romance is dead." 

"Come on, Sandburg, you're gorgeous, you know that." Jim said, stroking my face. "But this-- wasn't about that." 

"What was it about?" I asked with sudden trepidation. 

Jim smiled, seemingly despite himself, pain showing suddenly in his eyes. "I'd never thought of you that way before. I mean besides thinking you were beautiful, I always thought that. But all of a sudden... Christ, I wanted you, and you were so fucking skinny and sleepy and just-- vulnerable-- I didn't know if I wanted to fuck you or feed you. And I didn't..." 

He stopped. 

"Jim," I said. 

"Don't." he said, moving forward, and took me in his arms. I stood still, arms at my sides, feeling the solidity of him, his arousal against my belly. "Don't make me say it. I don't want to go there." he murmured into my hair. "Not if--" 

"Not if what?" I asked, so quietly I could hardly hear myself. 

"Not if I'm going to be there alone." 

I gaped, and then I lifted my arms, and held on tight, squeezing *hard.* God, of course I'd always loved him, always wanted him-- I just hadn't known I had a chance! 

"You're not going to be the only one." I said softly, working his shoulders with shaking hands. "You're not, Jim." But he remained silent. "Come on-- weren't you listening?" I said earnestly. "We fit together. We _work_. We can do this. Jim-- of course this isn't just-- wanting. It's so much more, and I know, well, I know I've never been Mr. Commitment or anything," I admitted, "but shit, Jim, why couldn't we make it work? I mean-- if that's what you want." 

"Yes," he said, "yes, that's what I want." 

"Then tell me." I said, holding on. "Please." 

"Shit." he muttered, and pulled back, looking into my eyes. "Blair... I love you. I've always loved you." 

I was ready to say it back. I was poised _and_ ready. But something about hearing it-- hearing it from _Jim_ \-- oh, man. I choked. There was something in the way; maybe tears. But he had to know, so I reached up and placed my hands to either side his face, holding his head still, and stared up into his eyes. 

*I love you,* I mouthed, fighting the waves of emotion, and maybe it was just because my vision was a little blurred, but I thought his eyes were suspiciously bright. "I love you so much, man." I blurted out, and he kissed me. 

He kissed my face blindly, my forehead and eyebrows and the tip of my nose-- his fingers moved over my lips, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. I moaned aloud, went up on my toes and took his mouth. It was clumsy, emotional, but so intense-- as though in a single minute we could make up for all the stupid wasted time we hadn't been kissing. It was desperate and sad, and joyous and tender. It was perfect, it was everything. 

Except after a while I started to get a crick in my neck. 

"Jim." I said as he kissed my earlobe, "Jim--" 

"What?" 

"Either we need a bed, or I need a box." 

He shuddered, clutching my shoulders-- and began laughing helplessly into my neck, absolutely fucking gone. Gotcha! I beamed, stroking his back until he recovered, wiping his eyes. Growling, he brushed a fist across my chin. "God, Sandburg..." He looked up at his bedroom, then back at me. "Are you sure?" 

I nodded, bouncing on my toes. "So sure, man." 

"There wasn't anything else you wanted to know?" he said, teasing for a moment. 

I grinned. "You weren't serious about the French maid thing, were you?" 

"Nah." he smiled, shaking his head. 

"So it's just nudity, dirty talk and dominance, right?" I checked, and he nodded, amused. "You should know," I said, "I'm into eyeball licking, hamsters and spanking."  
"No spanking." Jim responded, shaking his head. "I couldn't hit you--" 

"Who said anything about _you_ hitting _me_?" I put my hands on my hips indignantly. "I said I liked _spanking_ , man." 

Jim groaned, covered his face, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "I'm so fucked." 

"Not yet," I said, and snickered, sprinting ahead to the stairs that led up to Jim's room, taking them two at a time. I could hear him laughing as he pursued me, but I hardly dared look back for fear he'd disappear, and I'd wake up, and this would all be a dream... Kicking my shoes off, tugging off my socks, I rolled onto his bed, spreading my arms wide as Jim appeared at the top of the stairs, shirtless and horny and real. 

"Hey there, gorgeous." I said throatily, my chest tight with thrilling apprehension. "Where have you been all my life?" 

"I can't remember and I don't care," he said, and pounced me. Creaking violently, the bed protested squeakily as we went about it. But let me just say, it was the only one with any kind of objection. Foreplay had never been so much fun-- I could hardly stop grinning to lick Jim's nipples. It didn't help that he seemed set on discovering every one of my ticklish spots, and even more determined to viciously exploit them in order to make me squirm and giggle underneath him. 

"Son of a bitch!" I growled, laughing, as his hands dove beneath a layer of flannel. 

"Speaking," Jim beamed, ruffling my chest hair. 

"Oh god, oh god-- too many clothes." I said, batting his hands away. "Let me. Let me get that. You-- shit, take your pants off, man." 

Jim smiled, turning to swing his legs off the bed, bending to unlace his shoes. I peeled off a couple of shirts, tossing the last one over Jim's shoulder onto the floor and shaking out my hair. Leaning forward, I licked the back of one working, muscular shoulder. 

"Fuck," Jim growled at his apparently uncooperative left shoelace, twisted around and pounced me again. It was something I could get used to. Pressing me into the bed with his weight, he ran his hands over my newly naked chest. And then bent his head down, and kissed my belly, the ridge of my ribs, the slight layer of pudge I'd been slowly developing over the past two and a half years-- because of Jim, I suddenly realized, because he'd wanted to fuck me and feed me, and had settled for feeding me, and I hadn't even known. 

Breathing hard, I reached down to unbutton my jeans, but he pushed my hands away and did it with his _teeth_ , and you better believe I was diamond hard by the time he finished. 

"So, Sandburg," Jim said, working my jeans down over my hips, with his hands thank god because my patience was totally out the window, "tell me, when were you first attracted to _me_?" 

"Uh, well, you know." I helped as best I could, wriggling out of the legs, kicking them off, "first time I saw you with your shirt off," I said, and hoped he wouldn't remember... 

He squinted, putting a hand on the waistband of my red plaid boxers. In a sudden attack of junior high-itis, I silently vowed to save that pair for the rest of my life. 

"In the doctor's office." Jim said. "The first time you ever saw me." 

"Yeah, so?" I said defiantly, and shifted under his hand, tossing my head back with a gasp as my erection slid into his palm, under his fingers. "You're gorgeous, and I'm shallow." 

"As a kiddie pool." he murmured, rubbing gently. 

"But I really do love you." I said, struggling to keep my eyes locked on his.  
"I'll tell you what, Sandburg," he said, and prompted me to raise up again, tugging my boxers off swiftly, "you'd sure as hell better." 

And Jim pushed my hips down, and oh god-- oh god! he put his mouth on my cock. My head snapped back almost painfully. Impossibly aroused, I whimpered. Impossibly joyful, I laughed aloud, breath catching in my throat, lust and joy twining in a way they'd never done before. 

Below me, Jim's sweet mouth was busy doing some incredible things, but as he sucked me gently and then, oh god-- took me into his throat, I felt a rumbling vibration of desire and delight. I heard him _purring_ , I felt it: a rich, warm wave of love and lust and laughter, passion and pleasure rising-- I felt his thumbs stroking the hollows of my hips, and I came hard, eyes wide open, bucking up hard into his perfect mouth. "Jim, Jim, oh god Jim!" 

He swallowed, once, twice, as I rocked beneath him. Finally, he moved his hands, and let me slip out of his mouth, pushing himself up, looming over me. I lay there bonelessly, enjoying the haze, getting my breath back. Jim licked his lips, grinning a huge motherfucker of a shit-eating grin, which managed to burn away any minor guilt I might've had about coming in his mouth like that. I did still feel bad that he was still trapped in his jeans, though. Hadn't even taken off that one shoe. So fucking cute. 

I reached up for him. "Make love to me." 

"Jesus, Blair, I thought I was." he said, smiling, crawling up to lay his body half-across mine.  
"No, I mean--" I said, staring into his eyes. "Do you want to fuck me?" 

Even through the jeans, I could _feel_ him twitch. I grinned, guessing that was a yes. 

"Oh fuck _yeah_ ," he breathed, "but not tonight, I can't wait, it's just too much... oh, yeah, Blair baby, please--" and he went slowly incoherently as I groped him, sat up, pushed him over on his back and started to take off _his_ pants.  
And I pulled his jeans off and tossed 'em away and put my hands on his briefs and yanked 'em down to his knees, and then almost forgot the rest, because his cock was fucking beautiful, and it was *Jim's* and fuck yeah, he was hot for me, hard for me. I touched him with my fingers, teased him with my mouth, and the acrid taste of his pre-ejaculate made my mouth water. The thing was, I'd sucked guys before, gotten some compliments for it even, but I'd never deep-throated anyone like Jim had just done for me. And for a second, I wished I _had_ because then I could do it now, for Jim-- and then suddenly I was absurdly glad that I *hadn't* because I could try it sometime now, with Jim, and Jim would be the only man now, and for him I could learn, and he was the only man I'd ever trusted enough to do that for, to try that with, to take down my throat, and it had been years and fucking years since I was any kind of virgin, but I could offer this to Jim, because Jim would be the only man I'd ever love, Jim would be the only man who'd ever fuck my mouth. 

And I stroked his thigh with one hand, held his erection with the other and teased him, cherished him, loved him. And in choking unsteady words, in between kissing and licking and loving, I told Jim what I was thinking and why I was glad-- I sucked him till he moaned, fondled his balls, then pulled back and breathed words of love on him, drawing it out, because God this was sweet, this was it, this was everything. 

I didn't know if he could hear me or not, understand me or not-- but he was trembling harder and harder, and when I said "fuck my mouth" he gasped and yelped my name-- I pulled back, thrumming with joy, almost disbelieving the beauty of his powerful body jerking, gleaming with sweat-- I was still working him with my hand, and his mouth was open in awe as he came, spurting come on my chest and belly. 

And then he was gone, just gone. I grinned. Either I was very, very good, or else Jim always passed out after sex. 

I grinned bigger. Oh yeah. I was good. 

And of course Jim had tissues on his nightstand-- of course he did. So it was easy enough to clean myself up and then I stole some of his sweats and curled up next to him, next to my big, warm cop lover, arms around my beautiful boyfriend. 

Minutes passed in a happy fog, and eventually I felt him shift, and I looked up at him, and he kissed my forehead. "Let's get rid of your bed tomorrow." he said. "Solve that dust bunny problem." 

"No, I might still need it." I said thoughtlessly, and Jim's face went blank. I could have just died. "No, Jim, just for sometimes, like if I'm up late studying and don't want to bug you crawling into bed at three in the morning, or--" 

"You think that'd _bug_ me?" he asked softly. Brushing a hand over my face, he pushed my hair out of my eyes. "Blair... I want to share everything with you." 

"I want that too-- I just didn't want to _push_." I said softly. 

Jim snorted. "Oh please." 

"What?" 

" _You_ don't want to push your way into my life." he said. "You? Blair Sandburg? Don't want to--" 

"All right, all right!" I said, whacking him. 

"Seriously." he said, cuddling up to me. "I just-- You have my whole life, you have all of me. You can certainly have half my _bed_." 

"Can I have half your truck?" I asked. 

"Sure, the passenger-side half," he said smugly. 

"You know, it was a sucky bed, I never liked it anyway." I said happily. "Hey, man, check it out-- I think that was our first fight." 

"The hell it was," Jim snorted. "Where have you been for the past two and a half years, anyway?" 

"Oh, don't ask me, I don't know." I sighed, adjusting the pillow beneath my head. "Everywhere but here? You know, it's a damn shame, really." 

"What is?" 

"All those damned dull anthro keggers." I said, and Jim chuckled. "Think about it, man-- we could have met like five years before, you know, we actually did." 

"Ooh," Jim said, rolling over towards me, "like, fuck you, Officer?" 

"Exactly, man. Like, a little hands-on police work might have been nice." I smirked as Jim stroked my body slowly, up and down. 

"All right, punk," he whispered, "this grumpy, badass cop is breaking up your little tea party, you hear?" 

"You tell 'em, officer." I said, and giggled breathlessly. "Like, come out with your pants down? And put your hands-- oh, your hands." I said, and smiled. "Actually, where they are is good. Oh yeah, leave 'em there, man, that's _nice_. Ooh, baby." 

And it pretty much all worked out from there. 

So you see? 

I was right. 

What the fuck does Brown know, anyway? 

(end) 


End file.
